American Heist
by hockey10
Summary: Three robbers with a novice amongst them try to rob the luxury apartment of a rich CEO whose mind works in notorious ways. Extreme violence and language.


"Fuck its cold tonight!" complained Leo. Even through the ski mask, two shirts and leather jacket, the Manhattan winter made him shiver. He supposed that one of the downfalls of being a Californian was that they all bitched at sixty degrees. But now, in New York's December, he felt like his balls were going to freeze solid and fall off.

"Quit your bitching, Leo. And why in God's name did you bring that crowbar? I told you we wouldn't need it." Said Johnny as he climbed up the fire escape's stairs, followed by his partner Kurt. They both wore black hooded jackets and leather gloves (which Leo had not worn).

"Yeah, Leo!" agreed Kurt with a laugh, "It ain't even cold, either."

"Up yours." said Leo rubbing his hands together in front of his face. "Hey did you guys hear that Tom Cruise lives on the top floor of this building? Why don't we rob his place?"

"One, robbing a celebrity's house is the dumbest thing a man could do, and two I've been scouting out this apartment for weeks. This guy's gone and he's got a lot of good shit in here." Said Johnny. He knelt down next to the window and tried to see if it was unlocked, to no avail (of course, it was never unlocked or even left ajar. That would just make things to easy.). He tried punching the window. It didn't even budge.

Behind him, Kurt laughed hysterically as Johnny tried punching the window over and over again without even cracking it.

"Give me the goddamned crowbar." Johnny said in a tone filthy with disgust.

"Ha-ha, asshole!" said Leo as he handed Johnny the crowbar.

Johnny stood up, took a step back, almost bumped into Kurt, and swung the crowbar into the window shattering it with a loud crash. He broke off the jagged triangles of glass that were still attached to the window frame and climbed in, dropping the crowbar onto the grated floor of the fire escape.

Stuffing a chuckle Leo picked up the crowbar and went in behind Johnny, followed by Kurt.

The apartment's walls were a solid, bright white, and when Johnny turned on the lights they almost glowed. Huge paintings complimented the walls, a 3-D LG Television was on the wall, and next to it was a stereo system that sat on top of speakers that were as tall as a child.

Kurt whistled, "You sure know how to pick 'em, Johnny!"

Johnny smiled, "I know."

"Where do we start?" Leo said.

Kurt was marveling the stereo while Leo and Johnny plundered the place for ten minutes before he turned it on. It started to play Huey Lewis and the News's Power of Love. Kurt danced his way to the kitchen and began rifling through the cabinets, throwing things he didn't like on the floor, like canned beans and dry spaghetti noodles still in the box. Finally he came across a box of pop tarts. He opened it, took one of metallic shining bags out and began to munch on them. He threw the box onto the counter, spilling over the rest of the small bags into the sink, and grooved around the kitchen and into the living room, pop tart crumbs falling onto the carpet, which was equally as white as the rest of the apartment.

Johnny and Leo were going through the bedroom, which was fucking huge and had a bed to match it, when Leo found a bunch of unmarked video cassettes in a huge walk in closet, which was filled with luxury suits. Figuring they were porn (who the hell has video tapes for anything else anymore) he pulled out an Albertsons bag from his back pocket and filled it with as many tapes as he could. There were still at least twenty tapes in the box, maybe even more. _This guy must be one horny son of a bitch!_ He thought.

Johnny a pulled balled up trash bag out from his back pocket and grimaced when he heard the music that was playing. He ignored it to the best of his abilities and looked at the tripod and camera that was facing the bed. He found nothing of interest other than the camera in the room so he took it off of the tripod and placed it in the bag, careful not to drop it in so it wouldn't break. He walked in on Kurt dancing in the living room with a half eaten pop tart in his hand. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked.

"Grooving to some Huey Lewis!" responded Kurt, still dancing.

"Well stop it and take something other than a pastry, you dunce." ordered Johnny.

Kurt kept dancing, took a bite of his pop tart, and flipped Johnny off. The music stopped for a second and then the next track, Heart and Soul, came on. Kurt kept on dancing and took the last three bites of his pop tart, then licked the tips of his fingers.

Johnny walked up to the stereo machine and switched it off.

Kurt shoved him aside, still dancing to no rhythm, and turned it back on. 

* * *

><p>Patrick Bateman stepped out of the cab, dragged the suitcase out from its backseat, checked his hair in the mirror, and payed the cab driver. He checked his Rolex and it said that it was half past midnight, thirty minutes past yesterday. Jeanette was on vacation in Hollywood with Timothy Price, and she hadn't called in three days. He suspected she was having an affair with Price, as well as his shrink, whom he only knew as Dr. M. Patrick Jr, 15 now, was at a friend's house for the weekend, so Bateman had the apartment all to himself for two days, and his wife wouldn't be back for longer than that.<p>

Earlier that evening he had dinner with Donald Trump, and before that he returned some video tapes, and when he tried to give the Blockbuster clerk a video cassette of Girls Only Number Five, she just gave him a confused stare. So he called her a stupid whore and left the late fee and tape on the counter, then stormed out threatening to blow her head off then mouth-fuck her disembodied head. That was the third Blockbuster employee to look at him like he was an asshole that week and he wasn't going to stand for those shenanigans any longer.

But between the dinner with Trump, which was three hours ago, and the cab ride home, Patrick couldn't remember what he had done other than return the video tape. He literally saw the multicolored TV error screen for about three hours of his memory. He walked out of Dorsia, which he only got a reservation to because of Mr. Trump, and then . . . nothing. His mind just skipped to him threatening the bitch at blockbuster.

As a matter of fact, what the fuck was in the suitcase? He walked into the revolving doors and ignored the greeter behind the desk in the lobby, wondering what was in the damned thing. He was also wearing his black leather gloves, which he didn't have at Dorsia with Donald Trump.

He pressed the button in front of the elevator, checking out his hair in the reflective metal of the door. He was disgusted at the lines of gray in his hair, even if they were few and far apart. The gray just pissed him off, and he didn't stop scowling at his reflection until the elevator door opened. Other than that, still a sexy motherfucker though, as always.

Caught up in his reflection staring into his own black eyes, he stepped into the elevator only as it began to close, and he had to shove his suitcase in between the sliding doors to re-open them. He stepped inside, pressed the button for the fourteenth floor, and waited for the doors to close.

He looked at the briefcase, pondering over what could be in it. He knew the combination to open it—666—yet what did he put in it? Paperwork from P&P, clothes (it's not like he was going on vacation anytime soon)? He looked up at what number the light above the door was on, just to be safe, and then bent down to open the suitcase.

* * *

><p>Leo stuffed a luxury suit and some shiny black shoes to go with it in the bag above the porno cassettes, which he had decided to keep, and then got out of the ridiculously overstocked walk in closet. The only thing other than the vast array of clothes this guy had was the box of video tapes. He looked around the room, and when his eyes landed on a bottle of Evian water, he realized that he had to take a piss. He had been tapping his feet doing the potty dance for the past three or four minutes, the whole heist as a matter of fact. He found the bathroom right in the small hallway next to the room, rested the crowbar and loot bag on the wall next the door and went in, already unzipping his pants. He hadn't drunk anything since noon, but goddamn did he have to go. It must've been because he was nervous.<p>

Inside toilet, as he was pissing, not really aiming and hitting the toilet seat that he didn't even bother to lift. He was looking the ceiling, letting out a long sigh of relief when he noticed that something on the sink counter next to him was squealing faintly. He looked at the sink and saw that sitting next to it was a large, gray, wet rat in a cage with nothing but newspapers in it. The rat was gnawing on one of the cage's bars, its scaly little feet gripping the bars on either side of it like a crazed criminal.

In the living room Kurt and Johnny were ransacking the kitchen for good food and possibly silverware to steal. The cabinets were all opened, the unwanted items littered all over the white kitchen tile.

Kurt opened the fridge door, yanked the bottom drawer completely out of it and took out a single apple, then dropped the drawer upside down letting the other fruits roll out onto the floor amongst the other food they didn't want. He turned around and saw that Johnny had found the cereal in the cabinet under the sink and was stuffing his bag with the multiple boxes. Kurt went to the pantry in the back of the kitchen and opened it.

It was devoid of food, but instead filled with power tools. There were power drills, nail guns, even normal tools like handsaws and hammers. But on the top shelf was a chainsaw that was polished and shiny, as it were the biggest trophy in a glass showcase.

Even odder was the crude painting on the wall. It read: KILL ALL YUPPIES! In bright blue.

"Holly shit . . ." he said, gaping. "Johnny, you might want to check this out!"

"What is it?" Johnny asked as he came over to the pantry. Then he dropped his bag and stared at the contents of the pantry wide eyed. "What the hell?"

Leo came out from the bathroom, relieved and feeling much more relaxed, called out, "Hey guys, this dude's got a freaking rat in his toilet? How weird is that?"

"Well," Johnny replied from the kitchen, still staring at the arsenal of power tools in the pantry, his eyes especially transfixed on the chainsaw. "We found something even more fucked up."

Leo put his bag next to the broken window and went over to the pantry, still holding the crowbar in one hand.

Johnny looked at Leo from head to toe as Leo took in the power tool armory. "You look fucking stupid in that ski mask." He said.

"You look fucking stupid all the time, asshole." Leo said. He looked at the cabinet's with a raised eyebrow muttered "The fuck . . . ?"


End file.
